apologia pro egotismus mea

 

It has come to me as something of a shock

To realise I am not Hillaire Belloc

Nor by any strech of the benison

Would you be likely to mistake me on a dark night for Alfred Lord Tennyson

Of their particular talents I am bereft

So what's left

How can I fulfill my art

When I'm much too optimistic to be Sartre

Nor nuts enough to be Van Gogh

And lack the guts of old Picasso

What's a would be poet to do

Too ra lee too ra lay, too ra lay too ra loo

Great men of art are seldom found

Wherever there is work around

Our work is art we always say

Beseeching others to offer pay

For each iamb pentametric

I'll accept card cash or checque

eureka i have found it

 Watching the rather talented Shannon Bream commenting on something on Fox News.

Not for the first time I am struck by the curious habit of Irish Americans in naming their daughters after rivers in Ireland.

"Pity they didn't name her Dargle," I muse amusingly.